Wishing on Rainbows: A Memoir

By Laura Silveira

I didn't get to say goodbye.

To my son. To myself. He was beyond magical and she was pretty cool too.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Copper Mountain Books
• Release date: May 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9781963781014

Laura Silveira

Laura Silveira is a rainbow mom navigating life and raising two children after losing her firstborn son when he was an infant. Her blog "Juggling Rainbows" speaks to others going through similar loss, sharing her experiences of enduring grief, embracing joy, and searching for the key to resilience. Laura parents the best she can, finding strength in simplicity and smiles when life overwhelms. She lives in Nipomo, CA, with her husband Marcus and their children Bree and Matthew, though she'll never stop parenting Chase, who lives in Heaven.

Book preview

stars

One – Chase’s Life

"I

can’t reach down to

smell it, so you have to smell it."

Life is strung together by moments of unpredictability. Moments that make you take a deep breath, look around and think, Well, I didn’t see that coming. Being pregnant and having a baby is an excellent example. I never would have guessed that my water would break five weeks early and I’d be building a pool of amniotic fluid on my bathroom floor, let alone that I’d be strongly encouraging my husband to smell it.

I’d heard stories of moms who thought their water broke and they were going into labor, only to discover they had just peed themself. I wanted to be certain that this was my go time. So with a dash of encouragement and the forceful tone of Nike’s Just Do It slogan, my husband’s nose was headed toward our bathroom floor.

It doesn’t smell like anything.

I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment—that my pee doesn’t smell that bad—or confirmation that it wasn’t pee. Regardless, I was still leaking all over the floor and the shock of it all was starting to set in. My legs were starting to tremble uncontrollably. With the flexibility of a tree trunk, I waddled over to the toilet and sat down. My husband, Marcus, had disappeared to the other room to get the contact information for the hospital. He emerged quickly with a manila folder (cell phones with digital record-keeping weren’t quite an addiction yet) and started looking through the pages inside. In hindsight, a manila folder just seems silly. File folders are for keeping things organized. This moment was nothing but chaos. Our bathroom looked nothing like an aisle at Staples. The tile floor and bath mats were wet and a well-fed pregnant lady who had inhaled a Taco Bell Mexican pizza just hours ago was involuntarily shaking on the toilet. That manila folder was about to end up in the filing cabinet that was our dusty bathtub as we prepared to head to the hospital.

We arrived at the hospital and I sat down at the admissions cubicle with a wet towel awkwardly draped around my waist. The sound of squishing flip-flops announced my arrival to those nearby. Yes, I was a little bit embarrassed as the motion sensor doors parted to welcome me. But I was also hoping the added visual would speed up the process of being admitted to a room. I’m not sure if it did, since I had nothing to compare it to. This was my first time delivering a baby.

Right on Time

Our son, Chase, was making his entrance into this world five weeks early. Just a few hours earlier Marcus and I had actually been at this very same hospital for our first birthing class. I’m sure that completing the class would have been super helpful, but the first night was more of an introduction and I had learned nothing. Actually, that’s not true. I learned that I should find a really comfortable pillow and bring it to next week’s class. My fluffy pillow was now a wet towel. Practically the same thing.

Once I was checked into a room, I actually ended up crossing paths with the nurse who was teaching the birthing class. Technically, I was just lying in bed when she walked in. I jokingly told her I wanted a refund and then kindly asked for the CliffsNotes version of her teachings (not joking). She reassured me that I’d do a great job, which really meant it was too late and I’d figure it out. If I was going to try and learn something new at this point, I’d be passing with a C at best. Luckily that first night at the hospital was pretty uneventful as far as a delivery goes. I had plenty of time to stew in my own thoughts—because that’s always helpful (insert heaping pile of sarcasm).

The next day my doctor arrived to check on me. He smiled, asked how I was feeling, and stuck half his arm up my who-ha. My face was awkwardly smiling, while my mind was thinking, Son of a b*tch! There was a certain level of concern that my water broke and delivery was still moving slowly. As uncomfortable as this all was, it was nice to see a familiar face. I was preparing myself for some quality doctor-patient time, possibly some Q&A. Maybe a pep talk. Instead, that’s when he told me he was going out of town for the weekend and I’d be in great hands.

Ummm, what? What was more important than being in this room? I was selfishly thinking, Is your golf game really that important? Do the bride and groom really need you there? Maybe I would have let it slide if he told me it was his Broadway debut. Even then I felt like I was the one who would be deserving a standing ovation at the end of all of this. I never did find out why he couldn’t be there. Honestly, I was so surprised and disappointed I didn’t even ask. And, as swiftly as he’d arrived, he left.

While the doctor may have been on his way out, there were others on their way in: My mom, Linda, who had arrived from out-of-state, and my mother-in-law, also Linda. Both had plenty of time to perfect the art of chair sleeping. The nurses called them The Lindas. I’ve since memorialized this as a term of endearment along the lines of the Lindas are so loving and funny. Not oh, great, here come the Lindas again.

Through the comings and goings of the nurses and the Lindas, Marcus was right there with me. After that first day I’d been given some Pitocin to try and speed up the contractions. Marcus was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding my hand and watching the monitor for approaching speed bumps. At one point his grip loosened and I took it as a sign that I was getting a little bit of a break. Okay great, flat road ahead. To my surprise, a contraction came and it was anything but a slick surface. I looked over to read Marcus’s facial expressions, except I couldn’t see them or his face. His head was facing downward, resting on the edge of the bed. He had fallen asleep. I could hear some heavy breathing through the beeps of the monitors, which eliminated any doubt.

Although I’m not a big sports fan, I’ve picked up a few basic concepts from being married to one. Stay safe, support your team, and…don’t fall asleep at second base? I just assumed that last little nugget was a given. (To be clear, I’m talking about baseball, not the other kind of bases. Get your head outta the gutter.) In anticipation of go-time, (again, baseball) Marcus had taken some of his anti-anxiety medicine. To ensure he was feeling the calming effects by the time I graduated to the pushing portion of this event, he’d stepped it up with an extra dose. How many times had he tacked on an extra dose in the past? Well, once if you count this time. In his defense, both of us had anticipated that all of this delivery business would happen a lot quicker. Keeping the sports analogy going, I asked one of our coaches (the Lindas) for a time-out to take my favorite player for a walk. Time to regroup and then get our head back in the game. At some point it would be time to push.

My Longest Shift

I didn’t start pushing until Saturday. If you’re keeping track, we entered the hospital on Wednesday night. Pushing started out as more of a questionable hobby. I wondered if I was doing it right. My body wasn’t really feelin’ it, but we were now several days out from when I had wet the floor of my bathroom. The intensity of the delivery process increased in tandem with the size of the audience in the room. It felt like someone had challenged the hospital staff to see how many people could fit into one of these labor and delivery rooms. I’ve never tried crowd surfing at a concert but this would have been a great time to give that a try. I don’t think there’s a more trusted crowd than nurses, right?

At one point my bare booty was facing the hospital room door and an older female nurse was holding my leg up. She had been on shift for a while now and I was glad she was sticking with me through all of this. She had a very nurturing grandma vibe. While she had my leg, the rest of my body was facing my husband on the opposite side of the bed. He was definitely occupying the quieter corner of the room. I heard the nurse instruct me to roll my body over to face more in her direction. My head rolled over first. It was the only thing that didn’t feel heavy and tired at this point. To my surprise, my leg was now being held by an older male nurse. When did he get here? Crap, where was nurse grandma? Her shift was apparently over and mine just kept going.

Amongst all the noise of the nursing shift changes and the rumbling of medical equipment carts, it suddenly became very bright in the room. Very, very bright. One of the concertgoers—I mean nurses—had turned on a searchlight of some sort. My eyes squinted as I tried to adjust. Uh oh, had we lost someone in the crowd? For the last several days I’d felt more like a quiet observer, but if anyone was lost, I would have been happy to join the search party. The idea of not being the center of attention seemed a little appealing at this point. Or if everyone was present and accounted for and they were simply on the hunt for my vagina, I could have very easily guided them in the right direction. I hadn’t been able to see that girl for months, but I was pretty sure she was still down there somewhere.

There were several nurses standing in the background, with their hands calmly clasped together. They had that quiet observer role down pat. They were standing next to the little cart where Chase would hopefully be placed soon. I was informed this was the NICU staff. Chase was making his debut into the world five weeks early so they just wanted to be on the safe side. This was the first time it even crossed my mind that this could be a delicate situation.

I was tired. The searchlight was warm, and it was now highlighting the blood vessels that had popped in my neck from all the pushing. The Lindas had to be getting tired of pacing the hallways. It had literally been days. Marcus was being so supportive even after I’d lovingly asked him to get out of my face at least once. All kidding aside, I was truly grateful his anxiety meds had worn off many hours ago.

With a few more strenuous pushes, encouraged by the voice of a stand-in doctor saying one more several more times, Chase was here. The room got quiet. Chase was quiet. The strong voices that echoed in the room a few minutes earlier were now talking in whispers as they moved him over to the cart and the awaiting NICU nurses. It had only been seconds, but we couldn’t see him anymore. A few moments later we heard his sweet cries. And then we cried. The doctor reassured us that even though he’d arrived early, Chase wouldn’t need to go to the NICU, and he’d be staying with us. We took this as permission to fully enjoy the moment. Everything was okay.

Forehead to forehead, my husband and I smiled through welled-up eyes and looked at each other. Actually it was way more than a look. We locked eyes, feeling the sweet weight of the situation. Our love had brought life into the world. We had a son. We had our son. The frequency with which we’d hear our proper names, Laura and Marcus, would forever be less and more frequently replaced with Mom and Dad. I used to think that the scene in The Lion King where they hold up the baby cub was a little dramatic. At that moment, a gesture of that magnitude didn’t seem inappropriate. In fact, I might say it seemed necessary. But maybe I’d wait to give it a try until after I’d had a nap and a sandwich.

I still lock eyes with my husband. Partially because he has really big eyes and they can lock you in like laser beams. It’s also because I think I’m trying to jump back into that moment at the hospital when we were forehead to forehead. When the nursing crowd around us was dissipating and we were starting to feel the weight of our first few moments of parental bliss. Usually, when people start leaving the party, it’s a sign that it’s ending. Not this time. The love was growing by the second and we just couldn’t all fit in the room anymore. It was now a mostly empty space that felt full and warm even after that dang searchlight had finally been turned off and put away.

There was a break in the lovefest as we were kicked out of the labor and delivery room and moved to the recovery floor. Let’s call this the after-party. This was still a place of immense love, but it also came with a heavy dose of logistical confusion for us parental newbies. We learned to change diapers, button up onesies, and figure out the difference between a poop cry and an I-just-want-to-be-held cry. It was a lot. I have those cries too, but Chase’s were his own.

Settling into Motherhood

The confusion and learning continued even after we were discharged from the hospital. I’d missed that birthing class but I’d also missed the free breastfeeding class. Actually, I’d missed the birthing class, but I’d been avoiding the boob class. A few days into parenthood, though, had me realizing I needed to avoid my avoidance. The hospital had given me a referral for a class that was regularly held somewhere downtown. A few days into breastfeeding I decided it definitely wouldn’t hurt (oxymoron) to get some helpful nips…I mean, tips.

Marcus, Chase, and I arrived in the parking lot, and we sat in the car for a few minutes to mentally prepare. I was jealous that Chase was sleeping.

Are you sure dads are supposed to go to these things? Marcus asked with hesitation.

Why wouldn’t they be invited? Plus, I don’t want to be the only one having to take notes. This is a little overwhelming. I snapped at him like he was trying to be an absentee father.

We were a little early (the first and last time this ever happened in my early days of parenthood), so we decided to go in and get settled before class. The class was being held in this cute little house that had been converted into a lactation services office. The living room was where the class would be held. In a room off to the side (once a dining room?) I could see a scale and some equipment to take baby measurements and get more one-on-one time with the consultant.

We headed into the living room. The room was free of chairs but there were lots of pillows on the floor. We put Chase’s car seat down on the outskirts of the cushioned area. I gently unbuckled him, hoping that I wouldn’t wake him up from his slumber. Wrapped in some blankets, I picked him up and the three of us found our space on the floor. A nice lady saw us criss-cross applesauce to take a seat and reassured us we were in the right place. Marcus and I were looking around like skittish cats. He was looking for more dudes to show up and I was already trying to find the quickest way to an exit. I have always been pretty modest. Locker rooms make me uncomfortable, and for the better part of my teen years, I made my mom wait outside the dressing rooms when I needed to change. So the thought of seeing a boob, even mine, in a room full of ladies had me on edge. I was taking these few minutes to try and get my head in the game.

Other moms started to show up. Some of them were talking amongst themselves. This was a weekly class so some of them had been here before. They were definitely looking more comfortable than us.

They made their way to the living room floor, where a circle was starting to take shape. It was closing in. I looked over at Marcus, still the only male in the room, and I looked at the clock on the wall. There were only a few minutes before the class was about to begin. I gave him the nod. The nod that says, you have my permission to get outta here as fast as you can. He looked so relieved. All I heard was, I’ll be in the car as he began his sprint. I not so jokingly replied out loud, Take me with you.

I’ve never been a part of a